


Goodnight, Love

by cosim18



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 03:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13472499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosim18/pseuds/cosim18
Summary: Late nights and wine make for self reflection, and missing what used to be





	Goodnight, Love

**Author's Note:**

> I went in a very different direction than I expected to with this, but I love how it came out! I hope you like it, Kat! <3

Sometimes the ties that bind people aren’t as solid as once thought. Even after going through hell and coming out on the other side, broken and beaten but still alive, people drift apart. Life gets in the way somehow, and those you thought you’d be with forever can sometimes feel like a distant dream.

Lydia is standing at the window of her apartment, looking down at the city below, a glass of wine in her hand. It’s red, her favorite selection. For a moment her hand shakes, the tremors running through her arm causing the liquid to slosh out of the container, a few drops hitting the floor. It looks like blood, and it suddenly reminds her of the night of her 18th birthday party, her frantic emotions getting the best of her as she broke down, the stress of her mother’s financial burdens coupled with the normal level of teenage bullshit. She stares at the red, standing out starkly against the cream colored rug, and brings her hand up to her throat, the pain of Sebastian Valet’s claws slicing through her skin still fresh. Her fingertips delicately trace over the scar, which coincidentally lay almost exactly where her bruise from Jennifer Blake’s garrote laid.

She was a teenager stepping into the threshold of adulthood back then, understanding more about the world than most anyone her age could even dream. She had quickly learned that the things that go bump in the night were real, still are. Death comes to everyone, she should know, and the words of her old best friend Stiles run through her mind,  _ “You see, death doesn't happen to you, Lydia. It happens to everyone around you, okay?” _

She knew the words weren’t meant to hurt her, that they were supposed to help her realize just how powerful she was, and how much of an impact she had on those around her. He was only trying to protect her back then, prevent her from fully understanding the world she had been thrown into at the winter formal. But it wasn’t her fault that he’d fallen for her, nor was it her fault she couldn’t, wouldn’t reciprocate. She takes another sip of the alcohol, letting the mild burn settle in her throat, its bitterness matching her mood. During their junior year of high school, she and Stiles had grown closer, and she was proud of him when he moved on, when he finally accepted that she would never reciprocate how he felt, though it took a while to get used to the sudden lack of attention.

Lydia steps back from the window and sighs, kicking off the heels she’d been wearing since 7:30a.m. She turns and places the glass on a coaster sitting atop the coffee table and makes her way to the kitchen, kneeling down to grab a washcloth and seltzer from the bottom of the cabinet. Mason’s tip from all those years ago still rings true today, and Lydia can’t help but quirk the corner of her lip up in a small smile thinking of the boy. She keeps in touch with him on occasion, and she even wrote one of the recommendations for his graduate school application. Her smile slowly fades as she realized that was the last time she distinctly talked to anyone from the pack. She makes her way back to the drying stain and crouches down, her knees thanking her for deciding to purchase the memory foam rug.

The tears come more silently this time, contrary to her high school self. She learned even better how to keep her emotions in check, but even more than that, how to properly release them. She’d spent so many years bottled up, primping herself to look like the perfect woman, becoming more sexual and vivacious than her peers - she was still proud of that, always would be. But when her walls were slowly broken down first by Allison, and later by Jackson and Scott, even the rest, especially Stiles and Kira, Lydia realized the woman she could be, who she aspired to become. And so she did. She learned how to love in every way, not simply pretending to be interested in the romance in the movies. The Notebook had been her movie with Jackson, but she couldn’t watch the movie now without rolling her eyes. She learned how to balance romance with sex, beauty with brains, and most days she was happy and proud of who she was now. But as she scrubs at the red, watching it fade from a blood red to a blush pink, she feels herself cracking again.

It wasn’t really anyone’s decision to drift apart. Lydia laughs wryly, letting her head hang. Is it ever really? After Kira left to be with the Skinwalkers, the pack felt fractured and unwhole, the abrupt change in their dynamics upsetting the status quo. The pack didn’t feel as close as before, but they still tried, always watching each other’s backs. They’d all made big impressions on each other’s lives, saved one another countless times. But after everything that happened with the hunters after graduation, everyone seemed to want different things.

Scott had left for college, finally pursuing his degree in veterinary science, while Stiles moved back up to Washington, D.C. to continue his FBI training. He still worked there to this day, a part of a supernatural division that Derek actually worked in as well, albeit as a consultant and not a government agent. Lydia still wondered if they would ever make their relationship official. She wonders if she’d get an invitation to a wedding, were there to be one. Kira was still in the desert, as far as they knew, although Lydia recently heard rumblings in the supernatural community that Scott was planning to take a trip back to Shiprock after he finished school. She wonders if he ever did, he must've been out for a few years now. 

The exhaustion of the day and the alcohol in her system finally take hold, and Lydia loses the balance she had achieved on the balls of her feet, toppling backwards. She chuckles at herself, knowing she’s almost never this clumsy, and blames her preoccupied mind. It was always full of something, often equations she’s trying to solve. There may be a lot of dead Ancient Greeks who couldn’t solve them, but Lydia would be damned if she’d go down without a hard mathematic fight. But she’s distracted in a different way tonight, emotions she thought she’d let go of rising to the surface, apparently buried under the camouflage of being okay.

She looks around herself, trying to find her phone, and sees it sitting on the armrest of the couch. She leans over, stretching her arm to reach it, and gracefully catches it after tilting the corner to force it over the edge. She types in the passcode - Ariel - and stares down at the call screen. This is something she’d been wanting to do for some time, unsure of why or how to explain it to the recipient, but she couldn’t help her feelings tonight. She took a stuttered deep breath and tapped her thumb on the name, bringing the phone up to her ear. As the ringing began, Lydia suddenly wondered if she even had the right number. It’s been years now, there’s no telling what’s happened, if her love is even still there.

“Hello?” the voice asks when they pick up, tentative but excited.

“Is it really you?” Lydia asks without preamble. She suddenly has a smile on her face, hearing that voice just feels like  _ home _ .

“Yeah, it’s me,” the voice says. There’s a chuckle in it, but it’s cut short with another question. “Are you okay?”

“No, uh... actually, yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry,” Lydia says, her voice catching.

“Lydia, I can hear your heartbeat through the phone, even if you weren’t so bad at disguising your voice. Stop lying. Are you okay?” They both know the answer, but neither wants to make the assumption that the other can tell so easily. 

“I guess not really,” Lydia says, her brows creasing. She didn’t realize it until she heard her old friend’s voice. Her old lover.

The line is quiet for a while, and Lydia isn’t sure if the other woman is still there, but she doesn’t want to sound desperate by asking. She’s wondering how big a mistake calling was when she finally hears a sigh.

“Where are you? Are you safe?” The concern there is genuine, and Lydia can’t detect any negative feelings there past worry.

“Yeah, I’m safe. I’m, well if you must know, I’m sitting on my floor next to a wine stain, leaning against the window and looking out at the lights below.” Lydia’s tracing her fingers along the neon lines of the buildings, her left side pressed against the glass. 

“I’m glad you’re safe at least,” the voice says, calmer than before. They don’t seem to know what to say, but they’re not giving up on Lydia.

“Did you ever leave?” Lydia asks quietly. She’s not sure why she’s suddenly curious, but her heart is hammering and she can’t quite identify the reason.

“Ha, yeah, I did. I actually live in France, technically speaking. Haven’t been back in a while, I travel a lot these days. But I’m home visiting my dad for now.”

“Can I - Do you think it would be okay if I came by for a visit tomorrow?” Lydia’s trying to project an air of confidence, but she knows it’s probably not showing very authentically.

“I’d love that,” the voice says, and Lydia’s sure she can sense a smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Malia.”

“Sounds like a date,” she says. “Now get to bed, you’ve got a bit of a drive coming from Stanford tomorrow.”

“How are you so sure I’m still a professor there?” Lydia asks, surprised.

“I keep tabs on you,” Malia says simply. “Goodnight,” she sings into the phone before hanging up.

Lydia looks down at the blank screen and smiles.

_ Goodnight, love,  _ she thinks.


End file.
